


People Run in Circles

by Raynidreams



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynidreams/pseuds/Raynidreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snapshot of what might happen post season 1. Kala and Wolfgang. Complete.</p><p>Warnings for violence and kiss consent issues - depending upon reading. Apologies for any mistranslations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

He'd never noticed how so few possessions he owned until he'd packed up his bags, this time intending to be gone from Berlin for good. On the bare bed, gathered in a hold-all and a rucksack were the only things he needed. Some clothes. His true passport. Felix's. Also counterfeit ones. He picked up his wallet from the pile. It held money, credit cards and a couple of old photographs: one of his mother, faded, creased, and a strip of shots of Felix and himself taken in a photo booth shortly after they had met. Within it, Wolfgang's lip was split. His hair was dirty above a stocky, child's body. In between, his face was expressionless, his eyes focused dead centre on the lens as if posed for a mug shot. In total contrast, by his side, Felix appeared animated. Physically dark and slimmer, he had his tongue stuck out in the first two. Cheeks puffed out in the third. In the last frame, Felix held his index fingers up to the camera, wearing the world's biggest shit eating grin on his face. Wolfgang stared at each image, imprinting them upon his mind should he ever lose the pictures. Then he flicked his wallet shut, shoved it deep in his one back pocket, and took a step back from the bed.

Moving to the centre of the room, he surveyed it all in one big sweep. What was to be left in the apartment, furniture, crockery, his apartment manager could dump. Like he could the blackened waste bin in the bathroom with the ashes of everything else flammable; books, music, linen, all of which Wolfgang had burned. Lip curled into the slash of a knife, Wolfgang figured the asshole could have it as his final month's rent for the shithole. He fantasised for a moment about sneaking downstairs and raiding the fucker's safe for one last kick. The bastard ran a no-name ring. The puce colour it would leave his sweating face over that atrocious moustache when he found his cash gone was almost worth the effort. Then Wolfgang let his smile drop. He didn't have time to be fucking around. His uncle Sergey and cousin Steiner were dead, but rivals to their dirty empire would be after him if he stayed. Him, the sole survivor of the Bogdanow clan. He doubted it would matter to them one iota that he was the reason they now had wriggle room in the challenger's corner of the Berlin underground.

He filed the fantasy of doing his building's manager over as all it would be with a brief nod at what he saw in the apartment. All the surfaces were adequately wiped down. His fingerprints gone. There was no visible lint he could spot. Any hair and dust had been swept up. He couldn't find anything to indicate that he, personally, had ever lived here. Nothing of his DNA at least. His profession had always kept him careful of such things when on a job and, since his awakening, after having been a witness to the experiences of Nomi and Riley at the hands of doctors, the discreet habit of erasing himself had now become an obsession. He intended to leave no traces for others to find. For anyone to find, capture, or, to study.

Surfaces addressed, it was time to go. He clicked his neck, readying to move but his feet stayed put. He was distracted - not a good thing to be in the circumstances. His thoughts wandered. Outside he could hear cars pass by; their wheels scything apart the surface water on the concrete. Enamel roofs took a battering by the fierce downpour. He closed his eyes to try and block the memory but too late, his mind latched onto the smell of marigolds and coffee...

 _A soft presence sitting by him, stemming his unease as he basked in the sun._ Several heartbeats passed...

The sound of an alarm vehicle intruded which shook him abruptly alert. For a second, blood and gunpowder swamped the summer in his mind and instantly the glands in his throat flooded with the urge to vomit. He swallowed, gripping his body to calmness like one would a drunken friend and forced the sensations off. He took two quick steps to the window. The polizei car sped off down the corner. He watched the red of its tail lights flicker off the skin of the water for a breath longer than necessary and then he returned to the bed. He snapped the clips shut on his satchel and retrieved the semi automatic that lay beside the larger hold-all. It was the only other item from this dive he needed. He pulled the clip out and checked the rounds - his mouth twitched a moment from the slight sniff he made at the full clip - before he snapped it back. Somehow, he knew he was delaying leaving and he didn't know why. Indecisiveness wasn't in his nature. There were choices to be made in everything and he'd made his choice. So why linger?

The stupidity over his delaying was confirmed before he'd even had a chance to slip the strap of his smaller bag over his shoulder. The noise outside was slight but there was no mistaking the sound of a footstep the other side of the door.

'Scheiße', he whispered silently. Leonine grace crafted his steps as he ate up the distance to the door. He stood just to the side of the latch, ready for the shells that he was positive were to come thundering through at any moment. There, he counted not in breaths or in seconds, but in the taps of piano keys set to a 3:4 rhythm, having quested without realising, the calming echoes of Riley's mind as she listened to music, sat by an unconscious Will's side.

Her lips touched Will's cheek a moment: the power of the contact, both actual and spiritual, thrilled Riley, and brushed against Wolfgang with a startling reality.

‘Nein.’

He dragged his consciousness back to himself. Then he parted his feet and raised the firearm with both hands.

Underneath the door, through the gap, he saw a shadow move. Shoes clicking on the linoleum floor beyond. It shifted and then settled, elongating out a little into his dark apartment.

Wolfgang set his jaw tight and felt adrenalin bead sweat on his forehead. He clasped his fingers around the gun, finger tightening on the trigger.

Then someone knocked. He blinked, but didn’t move position.

He’d never known polite criminals before. Their kind of politeness was the kindness to not piss on your grave after a bullet to the back of the skull. It was a kindness he didn’t have.

The shadow outside of the door seemed to hesitate before action and then they knocked again. He took a step back readying to fire, polite or not, he wasn’t ready to be dead yet. Not with Felix still in a coma. Not when Will and Riley's hiding place was still so dicey. Not with so many people he cared about in danger.

Drei...zwei...eins he counted down, settling his aim where he judged the heart to be. His finger pressed…

‘Kyā āpa vahāṁ haiṁ, Wolfgang?’

His mind translated the words from Hindi, a language he’d never known but felt like he always had, as the boom of a gun killed the fading waves of their sound dead. _Are you there, Wolfgang?_

It wasn't the meaning of the words that had him dashing forward, grappling with the lock in his panic. It wasn’t the words, it was the voice that asked. That called his name.

_I know that voice....You are the singing man in my dream._

That voice and two further shots, highlighted by a scream.

His fingers, always so steady, didn’t seem to want to obey him and he fumbled, jarring the door back as the figure beyond stumbled and fell to the ground.

 _‘Kala!’_ he yelled.

 

***

More bullets whizzed by his head as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. The pit, pit, of impacted plaster and concrete sounded as dust kicked up all around them.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he demanded, pushing her further back behind him. The smell of her cutting through the grittiness of the smoke. He had no time to marvel at the feel of her arm beneath her jacket before another burst of fire came slamming through the door, sending a shower of splinters cascading over them. He did however take a moment to assess her fully, from top-to-toe, in a single eye movement. She wasn’t bleeding. But she was scared. Her eyes were wide, her mouth parted. God, she was here…HERE.

‘What do you mean, what am I doing here? Of course I had to come. You won’t talk to me!’ she shouted, ire and a question tinting the words. She then punched his arm. ‘And look, here you are, about to be killed!’

He couldn’t help it. He grinned at her. At her indignation. At her obvious fear and yet the lack of it clouding her reason. He knew the sensation. If he was about to die, it was going to be with a smirk not a whimper.

‘About that,’ he grunted, reluctantly switching back to the door. He put one finger quickly to his lip, then used the arm to guide her to the precarious safety of the wall at the side of the door. Outside, he heard rough, low voices and the click of a clip being changed. He tabulated their chances of getting out of here and they weren’t high.

‘I don’t suppose you could knock us up another bomb, could you?’

He heard a gasp he knew to be stunned laughter.

‘Not, I suspect, in the few moments we have,’ she whispered back.

‘Okay then, stay back.’

‘I won’t...’

‘I know, but humour me for a moment?’

He felt her fingers brush his hand. It was the briefest of contact, skin on skin, and yet he felt it down his entire body. A rush of heat that started where their hands met and cascaded deeper, through his veins, into his mind. For a moment, he stared at the back of his own head, seeing his body through her eyes, and then he was back in his own skin.

‘I’m with you,’ she said softly.

Outside, feet pressed down on broken plaster and wood. Then the door was kicked in.

Wolfgang blinked the grit from his eyes and fired. The side of the man’s head who entered first exploded out the other side. Amateurs, he concluded. He kicked out at the falling body so it cleared his path. His next shot caught the second attacker just below his jaw, clipping his jugular artery in a spray of red that splashed across the wall in a gory fan. The smell of iron suddenly dampened down the burning smell of powder and cold mildew from the hall outside. There were just three, he was relieved to find, still that was one more than he had reflexes for and the man fired before Wolfgang got an aim. The bullet ripped through his side. He didn’t feel it at first. It was so fast, he didn’t even fall, his finger clicking once, twice, three, four times, in a tradgectory line upwards. It caught the guy in the left thigh, the chest, and the top of his skull. The fourth bullet went wayward and shot out the bare light bulb above. The sparks lit up the hall like fireworks, speckling the debris floating in the air, before sending him light blind. He took a step back, landing in Kala’s arms.

‘Oh my God...’ she breathed against his skin. ‘No. No. No. Noooo!’

There were worse things than dying, he’d said before. He also felt there were worse ways to go than in the arms of a beautiful woman who knew him so completely and yet had still come for him.

He smiled up at her, them both staggering under his weight. Him then going down onto one knee as coldness spread up his spine, liquid heat spilling down his front and back.

‘Keep still, you...you...demon!’ she shouted at him. Things had started to go a little hazy, and so he watched, limp, as she yanked his jacket up, tearing through the grey jersey of his T-shirt.

He didn’t like the look of the hole in his skin, so instead switched to watching her face. Watching the shift of eyebrows, the contours of her cheeks and lips where she bit them in concentration.

He realised he must have become lost in the sight, for he started when she clasped his face, her hand slick with his blood. He could see pain in her eyes. He was dying and she was sad. He didn’t want to bring her such grief…

‘Wolfgang, you are not dying. Yet! But you are however going into shock...’

 _You’re hurting_ …he said, or thought he had.

‘It is _your_ pain I can feel,’ Kala replied. ‘Think instead that my body is yours, and not the other way around. I’m not hurt, therefore you are not hurt.’ Wolfgang felt the command, it came deep from her soul, if there was such a thing. Their soul…

Suddenly, he looked up and Sun was there. Without glancing at him, casually, she picked up the gun and handed it to Kala. ‘There are four, not three. These close quarters do not offer me enough room to manoeuver.’

Kala slipped her fingers around the weapon gingerly.

Wolfgang felt another sit beside him. Capheus ripped his T-shirt further off him, and fumbling in Kala’s purse, came up with some sports tape. Rapidly wrapping it around his middle. Kala had obviously come prepared.

‘I’ve patched up gunshot wounds before,’ he said. His gentle face lined a moment. ‘With varying degrees of success.’

Kala, back in command, ‘It’s better than it looks. It’s come out the other end, and as long as it hasn’t clipped anything inside, he’ll be good.’

Wolfgang watched her swallow and then stand. And then he switched. She lay on the floor, blood running down the soft yellow of her trousers. Sweat now poured down his face as the fourth gangster charged up the stairs. It figures they’d have had a driver, he reasoned. And fired, dead centre, a head shot. After his uncle, he wasn’t second guessing anyone not wearing body armour from now on. However now on lasted, of course.

  
The thug dropped as he did - Wolfgang’s vision tunnelling into a pair of terrified fine eyes. He smiled and slipped into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

The building blazed behind them as they rushed outside choking on smoke. People milled about, but no one stopped them as they hurried through towards a large van parked not far from the entrance. They found it open, with the key in the ignition. The gun in the glove box was all the confirmation they needed that it had been their attackers' and so without hesitation they all got in. Capheus took the wheel as Kala sat in the back with Wolfgang. His head pulled onto her lap. Her gaze drawn down the line of his body to where it slumped over the seat leather. The dark stain of his blood had already spread much further in moving him and it now spilled down his ribcage, settling gum-like into the fabric of his jacket, growing ever larger with every passing minute. Her gaze back on his face, she worried about the pallor of his skin. He looked pale. Defenceless. His head, where it lay over her knee, vulnerable. Even her hold on his damaged body seemed precarious, as though each bump in the road could be the jolt that ended his life.  
  
'It will be alright, Kala. We will save him,' Capheus reassured her. The confidence he projected sounded almost genuine and Kala nodded without speaking.  
  
'Where do we go?' Sun asked them after they had turned a few streets. She sat shotgun. Her question drew Kala to her and their eyes met through the rear-view mirror. Such was the measured strength of Sun's look, Kala felt its calming effect instantly. By degrees it stilled the tremors stressing her body and forced her to focus. She bit her lip thinking before she nodded again, coming to a decision. 'We need to go to his brother.' She looked down at Wolfgang as something of his knowledge blurred with hers. 'He’s in a hospital with a doctor that asks few questions. He will treat his wound better than I can. But we will need money. More than I have with me.'  
  
Her mind began to plot how to get resources but within a blink she wasn't in the van anymore. She had been transported to a cosy apartment half the world away where it was day. The air was different there. Warm and humid, not cold and thundering with rain.

From where she sat at her desk with her computer equipment surrounding her like battlements, Nomi looked over her shoulder at Kala without surprise. Her yellow tipped hair glistening in the afternoon light. She held Kala’s anxious gape evenly.  
  
'I'll wire some money to your account,' she said. 'I know the numbers of it already.'  
  
Kala wanted to thank her and to ask a hundred more questions about the practicalities. She also felt the urge to apologise for troubling Nomi with her needs at the same time she understood, realised, without knowing how she knew that now they were connected, their cluster was beyond all such niceties. She and Wolfgang needed help and so help was there. There was no expectancy of return because it was within their basic nature to protect one another. Each of them merely a shifting facet of a greater self. If she felt any concern about where her identity ended and another’s began it didn’t register then for at once she was back in the van as it ploughed through a graffiti strewn, starkly impoverished area of Berlin.  
  
Detached, the city flowed around them. The blurry buildings were dark and closely erected against one another. Broken railings guarded neon fronted shops; their dull illumination outlined rheumy pavements and the brittle skeletal remains of broken benches. At the street corners, under ripped carapaces, she witnessed gathered youths, their faces shaded, except for the back-and-forth passage of the dim orange of cigarettes.

The vernacular of this area of the city seemed characteristic of the hard Berlin of the media; battle scarred and broken. Physical walls having been torn down, mental ones like iron rods, were rooted firmly in barren ground beneath. The divide between those who had and those who had not, irrevocable.  
  
Kala didn’t know hunger. Had never had to strive for the basic means fundamental for existence. Her parents, though never wealthy, had always taken care of her and her sister. In more ways than just financial. She could have asked for no kinder childhood. Her love for her family and her home was a pang that wouldn’t go away. It stabbed at her constantly, threatened as she was by the isolation of the city about her. She had never been away from them for any great length of time before; university only a daily car ride away. Now she faced the very real possibility that she might never be held by her father again, never bask in his tenderness. She missed him and them as she looked down at the head of the man in her arms.  
  
Like being in the epicentre of an earthquake, Wolfgang's closeness jarred her.  
  
The connection between them, like the presence of the other seven, felt like it was growing in mass every day, pulling them closer and closer together. Every breath they took a measurement of alignment, as though they stood in the path of totality, awaiting cosmic synergy.  
  
She filled her lungs to dispel any doubt about her choices. Whatever was going to happen, she would face it. To Kala, dreams and visions were sent to shape the path, and to take the right step, one needed to listen to guidance. Her faith taught her that there was an astrological plan to adhere to, yet even so, at any given point, she could change her fate. Only her birth was completely fixed, not her end. And now that she was here, she couldn’t believe that she was meant to be anywhere else, and so she couldn't allow herself to think about her family, not while he suffered, as did Riley and Will. She whispered a quick prayer for them and roused herself to recheck Wolfgang's wound. The need for focus and detachment was vital if he was to get through this. She had to be clinical, clinical like she'd been when she’d pulled the fire alarm in his building. And, just as cool as she’d been when she'd waited to hear the sirens before spilling the lighter fuel she'd found, setting the hall alight. The smell of burning skin echoed back to her. The fire had been to cleanse any trace of her and Wolfgang having been there. Fire disguising, if only temporarily, the crime that had already been committed. Kala recognised that it had been Wolfgang's will that had held the gun to kill that last assailant, but it had been with her hand that he had pulled the trigger.

Shadows now lived between her fingers.

Twice now she had become an instrument that had ended other lives, and at some point, she would additionally need to deal with that. Below her, Wolfgang's face illuminated fleetingly in the light of passing street lamps. The ghostly caresses elongated over the contours of his nose and mouth, eerie in the darkness, to move on, leaving his face in shade. If she hadn't have come, he might be dead now. His mind blurred with hers. If she hadn’t, would he have still been in his apartment when those men arrived?  
  
Fate. Serendipity. Chaos Theory.  
  
Throughout her life, the steps forward had been clear to her and she had been happy. That was until her marriage. From the moment those flowers had appeared in her office from Rajan, she had been lost in unfamiliar waters. Rocked by doubts. Pulled off course.

Her marriage vows came back to her. _We shall be of one mind. We shall observe these vows together. Come now, as I take the last step with you…_  She had said those words, but not to Rajan.

Wolfgang had also been an instrument: one for her.

 _‘You didn’t want to marry that guy.’_  
_‘That is not for you to say.’_  
_‘Maybe not but you wanted me to say it.’_  
  
They were bound. Fatally, it seemed. She had killed and left India in a tornado of confusion, and would have to reconcile with all of it. Perhaps even into the next life. Or maybe this was her next life. Karma bearing witness on this new one. A life transcendentally begun with a gunshot.

She groaned, filing misgivings away. Because she knew without a doubt that there with other things she simply could not live without. She lowered her head and kissed him. She moved her fingers and pressed two to the pulse at Wolfgang’s neck. It was slow but steady. Disturbed, he stirred at her touch. His eyes restless suddenly, shifting beneath the lids. He blinked them open half way. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'Sorry. I should’ve been careful… cautious.’ He shivered. ‘Sorry – I’ve not said that word for a long time... I don't deal in regret. It doesn’t change what’s done,' he said. Another shiver wracked his body as he spoke.  
  
'Hush, for now,' she told him. 'We can speak when you are safe.'     
  
He snorted slightly. Not really awake. 'Safe...' He curled closer to her and settled. His breath evened out. She felt the layers of his thoughts drop away, taking Capheus and Sun with him. And without the warmth of his body over hers, she was left only with the stiffness of the wheel gripped tightly within her palms as she edged the van around curves in the road.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Coming awake was a slow process. From nothing, Wolfgang felt heaviness, weight throughout his body and mind. The sensation was followed by a dull pain, which grew into a throbbing pain, this slowly drawing him on towards consciousness. He stirred beneath the sheet and soon after he blinked and opened his eyes.  
  
The light in the room was too bright at first, the landscape of the interior slow to come into focus. When it did, he couldn't decide whether to laugh or sob.  
  
Kala was sat in a chair by the bed. Her feet were pulled up on it with her head resting on her knees. Her hair fell in a curtain around her face. She appeared to be asleep and Wolfgang wondered how long she had watched him sleep.  
  
'All night,' she said without opening her eyes. 'All night and most of today. I wasn't going to leave you alone here.'  
  
Wolfgang tried to moisten his lips. His mouth was terribly dry. 'You shouldn’t have. You should've stayed away. You should've...'  
  
Kala stirred, struggling to sit up, to find him. Anger flashed across her face. 'Let you die? Not see you?' She leaned forward and tried to take his hand. He pulled away. She took it back and felt it tremble beneath her own.  
  
'You've already seen too much of me,' he rasped. 'You know what I am.'  
  
Kala gnawed on her cheek a moment, her gaze seeking beyond the intimacy of the small recovery room. Wolfgang used the moment to study her face as he had before. He couldn't ever recall having seen anyone as lovely. Everything about her fascinated him and had from the first moment he'd seen her. It was as if she were some kind of a key and he the lock that had been waiting for her his whole miserable life.  
  
'I can't pretend not to be horrified by what I saw...by what you did--'  
  
Even as he’d expected it, it was a fist into his stomach. It hit as hard as the traumatised expression of her face after he'd killed his uncle.  
  
'--revenge, it's an ugly thing. A terrible disease that spreads and spreads.' Her voice caught.  
  
Wolfgang looked away when she looked back to him.  
  
'Then you should leave,' he replied flatly.  
  
She gripped his hand, hard enough that her knuckles turned white. 'You need to stop telling me what I should do!'  
  
Her irritation hit him. It sparked his own.  
  
'Fuck...I get people killed! I kill people. I don't want...I don't want that to happen to you,' he finished softly.  
  
She moved closer to the bed, and sat on it, careful not to dislodge any of the tubes running to and from his body. Like fuel, she scorched his flesh. Even in the state he was, he felt both aroused and warmed by her closeness. He felt her reaction to him, and it was just as intense. Their emotions and feelings intertwined.  
  
'I'm in danger, Wolfgang. Even if I wasn't what I am...' she lowered her voice, the rough reverberation of it not helping his arousal. 'What _we_ are, danger is still everywhere.'  
  
He snorted, bitter. 'I certainly up the odds.'  
  
'The truth is, whatever you did, the thought of not being with you, near you, properly,' she took a breath. 'There's nothing that terrifies me more.'  
  
He swallowed. He was selfish.  _So fucking selfish._  He knew categorically that she was safer without him. He also knew that were he not prone here with a hole in his side, he'd burn to eat her up. Slant his mouth hard over hers, drag his hands through her curling hair, delight in it cracking over his shoulders. Screw who might see, he wanted to plunge himself within her until any and all uncertainty was replaced with climax. Kala must have sensed it; did. Her pupils dilated and her nipples seemed to spring up, the nubs abruptly visible against the silken fabric of her shirt.  
  
'I want...' she continued. 'You...'  
  
Wolfgang shook his head. It must be the drugs because he could feel himself weakening. He clenched his abs, provoking pain. Felt his stitches begin to tug and tear. It was something other than her and how intoxicating she felt to focus on.  
  
'You saw my father. You saw what he did to me. What he made me into. That is what I am.'  
  
'It doesn't run in circles, Wolfgang. You are not him! I FEEL you! Inside, in here.’ She brought his hand to her chest. ‘And I know you just as you know me. In here.’ She tapped a finger against her forehead and then let it drop. She studied his face as intently as he’d studied hers. Her scrutiny was direct, without any coyness of the past. The depth of her feeling radiating out towards him.  
  
'I feel like him...How he hurt people. My moth...’ he stopped and breathed deeply, banging his head back momentarily against his pillow. ‘Kala, I relished in fucking killing him. In ending my uncle…’ he paused, inhaling hard. ‘This…is my world.'  
  
'No, not anymore. We are your world now. You are more than just you, and we are stronger for you.'  
  
He snorted, his eyebrows scrunching down, senses wishing for the sublime darkness of unconsciousness.  
  
‘To not feel what you are feeling, to give up on it is to feel... death.’ He sensed the connection to Sun in those words. Kala cupped his face and brought her mouth close. ‘I won’t let you give up and I won’t give up on you.’  
  
‘There’s so much between us. Rajan. My life here…Felix.’  
  
‘You are finding excuses and you know it. We want one another. We belong with one another.’  
  
He groaned as her mouth pressed to his, almost chastely. He was feeling anything but chaste and brought his free hand to the back of her neck. The kiss they had shared while visiting was nothing compared to this. Both of their pulses sped up, humming in time. His imagination whorled with hers. Teeth nipping, sweat pulling at skin. The taste of her core…  
  
‘No,’ he grunted, and pulled back, turning his face away. Kala hauled him back.  
  
‘I’d let you go if I knew you didn’t feel the same way.’ She crawled closer. ‘But you do. Is lying even possible between us anymore?’  
  
He resisted, certain in his knowledge of himself, and tried to sit up, only to have weakness wash over him in a wave. Black spots danced across his vision: a TV gone to static. When it cleared he felt the fight go out of him. He'd been fighting his whole shitty life and he didn't have the energy to argue with her.  
  
'You are not the problem, Wolfgang,' she whispered. ‘You’re not. And if you give into this…this hatred, if you hold onto it, your life, how it began, _will be_ how it finishes.’  
  
He fought back a sob. Maybe it was hers. Maybe it was his own. He could no longer tell.  
  
‘What’s past is past. What’s coming, we’ll deal with it. You and me. All of us, together.’  
  
His gaze rolled back to her. Lost in her. Kala leaned in again, lost in him.  
  
‘I love you,’ he said, resistance at nil. ‘You’re in my skin, my head. I’m not sure how healthy it is. I’m not healthy.’  
  
Kala pushed her advantage and kissed him again. Her body somehow curling over and around his, not pressing on any part of him that hurt.  
  
‘However your life started, Wolfgang, it doesn't have to be how it will end,' she reiterated. 'I won't let it. I can only go with my heart, and it’s with you.’

Growling, he let go and let her will bind with his. Tenderness was new to him, but it all what he felt as she lessened the pressure of her hold and then twisted to the top of the bed, shifting to support him. She tilted his head onto her shoulder, and reading him fully, she stilled, waiting for his guard to drop.

He sighed and lay it down quietly.

 


End file.
